St Louis
by stephaniand
Summary: Scotch and baths can be an amazing combination, it really depends on how you look at it. Realistic setting of post-finale Defiance.


**No Copyright Infrigement Intended**

**Title: **St. Louis

**Author: **Stephaniand

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama

**Perspective: **Omnipresent Third Person

**Pairing: **Stahma/Amanda and Scotch/Bath

**Note:** Look me up on Twitter for more information Nerdsbians

* * *

Stahma held Kenya's limp body in her arms till sundown. She caressed her face, lilac eyes sweeping over her body lovingly. She treated her palish skin with the same reverence in death as she had done in life. No tears escaped her eyes, for Castithan women did not cry, they resigned themselves to the fate that they were given. Stahma had always been particularly adept in this aspect, and she knew her actions, although unjustified, were necessary.

Her velvet voice rose in a sweet melody that surrounded them, rising around them, permeating the trees with the gentlest lullaby. Something haunting, and nostalgic, but comforting. Stahma's voice and arms served to shield them from the world and whatever disasters may have been occurring in the town. Small pecks from white lips promised a perfect calm, and a simple devotion. She would hide her away, some place where even her husband wouldn't find the body, which, as the hours crawled by, grew cold in the warmth of her arms.

* * *

A few weeks had passed since the exchange. The Earth Republic had completely taken over the town. There were no longer any private businesses, only government owned locations. Every street was lined with stern-faced soldiers. No one could recognize the town anymore.

Food was evenly distributed. Families were kicked out of their homes, relocated to ghettos in order to make space for Earth Republic citizens and military men. The town council had been disbanded, but although some of the members had been incarcerated, such as Datak Tarr—who was found guilty of the murder of an army official—and some human officials. The town building, however, was anything but empty. Soldiers went in and out like ants at all times of night and day, carrying small and large packages, some of which could've held guns, loading them up to a truck, and walking back inside. All other weapons in town had been confiscated, as well as a large number of private property, namely any family treasures that held monetary value. People were stripped of their belongings, and a somber air haunted the now silent streets.

From every street and every storefront window looked down a face familiar to all those in what was now known, once again, as . The sweet smile of Kenya Rosewater remained forever unaffected by time and weather, under the word 'MISSING' in bold, capital letters.

It was under one of these papers that stood her sister, Amanda Rosewater. Her forehead had taken on a permanent frown. Her lips were as tight as her hard, unfeeling expression, the only one she'd show the damned E-Rep goons. Her baby blues were glassy, though. They held much more emotion than ever before. As she stood on the cold pavement, on that deserted street, on that lonely afternoon, all messy braid and faded leather, no one approached her with a gentle word or smile. The streets were silent as Amanda stood in front of one of many grayish pictures of her missing sister, bags under her eyes and, of course, a bottle of scotch in her right hand, her faithful companion. During these fateful weeks, neither had left her side. She, in turn, did nothing to turn them away.

Scotch was one thing that was never in shortage. Apparently the army men were fond of it as well. Shipments came in every night. She wasn't proud of what she did to keep a reasonable supply for herself, but if she hadn't kicked her addiction before, she certainly wasn't going to now. And so, most of her meals had been in the liquid form lately.

She didn't ponder the reason for the absence of her sister's presence anymore. There was nothing to it, only she could find her, as no lawkeeper was left in town, only those that, to her, were lawbreakers and criminals. She pondered not much, let things take their course and drank till her mind approved of her actions. The past weeks however, had not made the ex-mayor any more trusting, and the one thing she did ponder, was Stahma's intentions.

Stahma Tarr.

Amanda had turned away from her sister, turned around, found the porcelain-skinned, mysterious woman standing close, as if her thoughts had summoned her. She took a step back, and frowned up at her inquisitively, whitish pink lips pouting slightly, baby blues set and curious in a serious manner, wary of the dangerous and alluring aura of the soft-spoken woman.

Stahma's eyes quickly traveled up and down her body, and Amanda felt like she was reading her, as the siren leaned slightly closer, with open lips, "I think," she paused, searching the woman's face, "it might be time to take you home, dear."

The ex-mayor was finally startled out of her trance by a soft, inviting hand. Her sharp tongue finally got a hold of itself again, "I don't have a home!" she snapped in a husky voice. Looking over the gentle face of the Castithan woman, however, she surprisingly felt guilty at having used such a harsh tone. She looked back at her, contemplating, and said in a commanding, quick, and breathy tone, "and that won't be necessary." A tone that indicated the conversation was over. She took another step back, and, as fate would have it, tripped, her body betraying her words.

She would not fall, however.

When Amanda opened her eyes, she was looking into lilac ones. Lilac ones that searched her face and caressed her soul, and two warm and delicate hands at her back. She placed her own hand on the shoulder of the Castithan woman, and kept her mouth shut. Finally Stahma spoke, her voice smooth like wine, sweetened by melted chocolate, low-pitched and piercing, every word an ominous declaration of her danger and power.

"You have a brave heart," she whispered lowly, just for her "and a passion for goodwill." Amanda felt Stahma's gentle lilac gaze caress her cheek so slowly, not touching her once, "just like your sister."

To Amanda Rosewater, Stahma Tarr's voice was like a lullaby. She felt her eyelids eventually drift closed, until only those lilac eyes remained, a picture forever in her mind engrained.

When she opened her sky blue eyes again, she saw white. Lots of it. She also heard water running. It wasn't until her vision had focused that she also recognized a figure in a bath, getting out of the bath, walking slowly towards her. A glass of her favorite drink was offered to her with a caring smile, and she received it quite willingly, her head still unfocused. All the white was disconcerting. There was marble and ivory and velvet and silk. There was porcelain, white candles lit. There was a woman, dressed in nothing but silver beads, grabbing her hands, pulling her to her feet. The same hands that carefully, slowly took off her coat, first grabbing a lapel, then settling below her throat, with a touch that was softer than the most delicate silk. There were eyes, looking into her own, holding her captive, taking her soul. She complained at the advances not. In her own mind, she understood the intrusion her clothes made on such a pure environment. Or at least, that's what she told herself, as one by one they dropped silently to the floor.

Her body felt liberated, and soon her hair was too, as nimble hands made quick work of the braid, and golden locks gratefully flowed free. An enormous pressure seemed to lift from her shoulders, and the white started to look like clouds, the place started to look like heaven, and the woman in front of her the most mischievous angel.

She had an amused yet gracefully controlled smile on her flawless face, that made her lilac eyes twinkle, which looked out from under heavy eyelashes and beyond an upward-tilted chin. Stahma watched broke not once her gaze as her own hands brought blissful indulgence to parched lips, and it seemed those purplish lips were the ones bringing her the satisfaction, a thought that made her lively blue eyes close in contentment and a gruff approving sound rise from the back of her throat, as she slowly wrapped her hands around those that provided her with liquid pleasure, and sipped to satiety.

Stahma took lowered the empty glass with her left hand, while Amanda, still looking into her eyes, refused to let her right hand go, impatiently expectant of more sinful joys. A devious smirk was her only response as intelligent eyes traveled away, and then back to her own. Intelligent eyes registered her wishes, reading her mind, and a melodious whisper proved indulging. Words she felt on her lips—which parted—more than she heard. An offer of treasures and pleasures beyond her imagination. Undeniable, like a siren doth sing to the unfortunate, inopportune sailor. Three single words, that extended into infinity, and played over and over in her cloudy mind.

"Come with me."

And no more words need be uttered. Her hands tingled and her blood rushed. It might have seemed as if, with those simple words, her body had come to life. She felt oversensitive, connected to the source of her new-found energy only by a single hand, which slowly and gracefully led her into water that burned at first, inflicting certain pain, only to bring fiery pleasure, as that same hand traveled up her arm, that made her commit to an elongated sigh and throw her head back, eyes closed as she was lowered reverently into the water. The temperature did nothing to assuage the goosebumps that had erupted over her whole body, however. Her eyes traversed her own arms in wonder, held out for her cursory inspection, and she felt the electricity vibrating just underneath, as if looking at herself with completely new eyes. Then clear skies met fields of lavender.

When she felt Stahma's right hand join the other at the top of her shoulders, and start to travel back down, her own fingers, curious and shy, raised to touch smooth, velvety white. So pure, so flawless, so delicate. It explored the rises and falls of her chest, the smooth muscles of her neck, let her other hand join as they moved across her clear, protruding clavicle, and when her hands reached her shoulders, Stahma's had reached her wrists, one of which she raised to her cold lips, pressing the smallest of kisses on to trembling skin. Reassuring and disconcerting, all at the same time.

Amanda's own eyes burned hot on the path of her lips, and petulantly refused to leave the smooth arch of a wicked smirk. Her new found energy recognized it as a challenge. Before those lips could defy her any longer, she decided on her own revolution.

Her lips wasted no time in hungrily taking those purple lips with her own. A growled purr escaped her when she found the other woman unsurprised, and reacting only with a peck and the same smirk. So she held the woman's face in place as she worked on every part of her mouth, biting her plump lower lip softly, feeling her teeth sink into soft pillows, and wrapping a desperate hand around her neck. She was rewarded with another hand which traversed her chest and traveled over heated skin to lower parts of her body. But she refused to open her eyes, refused to give up on the effort of eliciting a pleasurable sound from the impenetrable woman, to bring light forth to every one of her dark, mysterious places, and her tongue.

Temporarily giving up on getting the woman to open her mouth, her lips left the slightest pecks over a white chin, the gentle slope of a jaw, breathing into her ear as magical hands covered her mounds with the softest touch, eliciting excitement that made her skin positively tremble. She held on to the woman's shoulders for dear life, and threw her head back, as a hot tongue marked a single line up her neck. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as wave after stronger wave of pleasure made her skin turn to fire. Her knuckles must have been white on the woman's shoulders, when finally, she hunted down and captured that tongue with her own.

She knew she had won when she heard that incredibly, delicious, broken moan.


End file.
